


All the fire in his blood

by windfallswest



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you act well enough to fool a troupe of actors?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the fire in his blood

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the [Havemercy Kink Meme](http://thremedon.livejournal.com/70195.html#comments); de-anoning...because I feel like it?
> 
> Prompt was for a faked-relationship-turned-real, lots of denial, and sex. I hit at least two of the three.

Goro is watching them again, like he knows they're up to something. They are not so far from the border crossing that the least chance of discovery can be risked. Not so isolated that he could kill the man; not so rural for flight to succeed. Their only recourse is to make the troupe believe their disguise beyond a doubt. Kouje burns with shame and fear, for he is not skilled as an actor.

He tries to convey this with his eyes to Mamoru as they stand facing one another. Mamoru, who often knows without words or even a glance what decorum will not permit be said outright. There is something in Mamoru's eyes.

Praying silently for forgiveness, Kouje leans in and ever so softly brushes his lips against Mamoru's. Such intimacy would never be so openly displayed in the palace. Here, it may be permitted a man and his new bride.

Mamoru's lips are warm and soft and parted ever so slightly, no doubt in shock. This does not feel like acting.

When he straightens, the look in Mamoru's eyes is one of great awe which he has been humbled to see before on the young prince's face in moments when Mamoru's regal reserve failed. This time, it ties Kouje's stomach in unexpected knots. He is more than relieved to follow Aiko's summons back to heavy, mind-blanking labour.

Kouje knows Mamoru reads the apology written on his face that night. He aches to speak it, but though their shared bedroll is spread a short, discreet distance from the others, it is not so far as to make their words secure. They are sharing, of course, as any couple would.

He is reluctant to look into Mamoru's eyes, and...and for some reason afraid of what he'll see there. Mamoru's silence is one Kouje cannot interpret.

 _Cannot, or will not?_ he asks himself, his thought skittering away from questions of _why_.

Kouje slips under the covers beside Mamoru after a long moment of inexplicable hesitation, gaze all the while downcast as it hardly ever is when they are alone.

Mamoru lies facing him. Kouje licks his lips nervously, then thinks better of it, too late. He can smell Mamoru's breath, which carries the scent of plain, simple food and green tea.

One of Mamoru's soft, beautiful hands tilts his chin up until Kouje has no choice but to look him in the eye.

There is a question there Mamoru will not let himself voice because he knows Kouje will give him anything, everything. There is an uncharacteristic passion in his eyes, and a fire Kouje can feel where the pads of long fingers press the skin under his jaw.

Kouje moves with the slowness of great misgivings to press another kiss to Mamoru's inviting mouth. Gently, despite the flames suddenly coursing through his own veins.

Mamoru kisses back so sweetly Kouje thinks his heart might break. He does not deserve...

"My lord," he whispers to those wide, astonished eyes.

" _Kouje_ ," Mamoru whispers back, exasperated.

" _Mamoru_ ," Kouje breathes fiercely, with all the fire in his blood.

Mamoru kisses him then, and though he clearly has no idea what he's doing, there is no longer any doubt in his posture. _No one_ deserves this man, magnificent and truly royal despite himself, but Mamoru has _chosen_ Kouje nonetheless.

Kouje's gratefulness is as vast as the sea, the sky. He slides a hand down the forbidden curve of Mamoru's back, wishing for skin.

Mamoru wriggles a hand inside his shirt, which is somehow covering much less of himself than it had been—both hands, untrimmed fingernails scratching sensuously down Kouje's chest.

Mamoru learns quickly, matching Kouje stroke for stroke when Kouje cannot help but deepen the kiss. It is his hand that first presses the swelling in Kouje's leggings, drawing his pleas out like a note from the string.

"Please," Kouje begs, straining towards him, so little space between them except for cloth now.

Mamoru removes those more adroitly than a palace servitor. The evidence of his own ardour is pressing naked and maddening against Kouje's thigh.

Kouje cannot help but touch. It is easy to flip them over so he can explore the pampered expanses of skin these weeks of travel still have not touched, broken only by two long, raised battle scars. He kisses them, mute apology, and kisses the skin high on Mamoru's neck that tastes of dust and Xi'an. He bites playfully at Mamoru's nipples and shows him what, precisely, those nails do to him.

Mamoru gasps silently, chest heaving, and tangles his fingers in long, loose hair. His hands move as though they want to be everywhere, clutching with the scrape of Kouje's teeth and caressing in rhythm with his lips and tongue. He will blush tomorrow when he finds that Kouje has left a mark low on his collarbone, and Kouje will hang his head in shame and retroactive shock, but that night Mamoru will press him up against a tree and down into the pillow and the next day there would be more marks.

Mamoru's leg slides between Kouje's, providing pressure just exactly where he needs it to. Kouje muffles a helpless shout on Mamoru's stomach. He drags his body up Mamoru's, sliding it past his hard cock. Is that a profanity breathed into his ear?

Kouje grins and reclaims Mamoru's mouth. He swallows the sounds Mamoru makes when he takes dick in hand like they're the finest wine. Mamoru is leaking and he smears the fluid with his thumb and massages it into the sensitive skin.

There are the fingernails again, digging into his back and making him thrust into Mamoru's hip with every stroke of his hand.

Mamoru writhes with pleasure, their kisses wild and sloppy now. Kouje can only imagine the expression on his face. Someday, maybe, he will see...

"Mamoru." The word is almost lost like a dust mote in the sunlight, as lost as Kouje is.

Mamoru kisses him desperately to keep silent, bucks and shakes and spills underneath him. Kouje reels, so close, so full of a need he hardly dares name.

A hand snakes down to grip him, a few fingers wet with a part of the slick warmth that is Mamoru's come. It is too much, too much, and Kouje trembles with his release. Soft kisses bring him back and pull him into simple peace, wrapped in tender arms.


End file.
